Dreams of Spring
by Osirin
Summary: Unlikely alliances begin to take shape as war returns to Westeros. Outcasts find new homes and winter blankets the north, while to the east, a great power makes landfall. Jon/OC *Book elements*
1. Chapter 1

Jon

"We have less numbers than Ramsay Bolton. Our allies are but small houses that spare few men. The Free Folk may well be our only strength. We need more men!" Sansa said exhaustive.

"We've rallied all of the loyal Stark bannerman and none will come to our aid. I have nor the title or right to take Winterfell." _You can't be the Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born_ , he heard Robb say again.

The sound of horses and men filled the cold air at the Gift with clatter and talk. Thick clouds obscured the sun in heavy snowfall darkening their settlement. _I have no right_ , he thought.

Abruptly entering the tent Ser Davos curtly bowed. "My lord, my lady. I present Lord of Ravenwood, Almont Firestone."

"My lord, my Lady Stark," Lord Almont bowed.

Tall, pale, and balding he stood weary in face. "I hope you can forgive my refusal. Bolton soldier's run admist Ravenwood. Wreaking havoc wherever they go... I wish to present a friend in need a gift. For such times calls for justice. For our families... gravely demand 'em."

"What is this gift you speak of? Why should we trust a turncloak?" Sansa asked albeit cold. Far from the Sansa, Jon knew as a child. Her hardened exterior so biting and cold.

"Never were we aligned to such barbarity. The Lannister's were believed to have slaughtered the remaining Starks. Leaving your loyal men to cower behind their stone walls. Though I tried raising arms after my eldest had passed, I was met with another death. No one came. My young son skinned alive beyond the gates of Ravenwood for my rebellion. No sword was lifted in aid to me, your family name, and certainly not my son."

Now distraught of feeling, Lord Firestone paced the small quarters. "I've come to aid House Stark once again as loyal subjects." His gait ended with a loud inhale. Bellowing the winds of his breath to a descending kneel. "My life is yours, my sword is yours, now and forever."

"That hasn't stopped some subjects from spying on us," Sansa scoffed.

"My family and I are indebted to the Starks for saving our lives in past times. I wish no harm but peaceful summers and winters." Lord Firestone said stiffly.

Jon leaned forward, "you are a fighting man? A water dancer my father told me. We could use you in our ranks." Sansa eyed her half brother sharply.

"I am, my Lord Snow. He was a great man. He must've told ya of the Mountain of the Moon?"

"He wanted to raise his banners to join the rebellion, but was complicated by the fact that Gulltown, the Vale's chief port, had stayed loyal to the Iron throne. My father had to cross the Mountain of the Moon. Where he met you. He said you helped him."

"I did. It was a bloody way down." Sighing of the memories, he smiled. "The clansmen were the least of our problem as you know. Those fucking foothills on those mountains are dangerous. If not for my skill, we'd would've been the meal of a shadow cat on those peaks." His cheeks red now, faded to the paleness. "I propose an alliance in such partnership."

"My lord?"

"My daughter marries you. At first sight. I've lost my son fighting with the Young Wolf, and lost another by that Bolton monster. My daughter is the last..."

"We're at war. There will be no time for a wedding when war is on our backs. I'm just a bastard. I bring nothing to your family, my lord." Jon said sullenly.

"No time to live but now. The quicker the wedding, the longer of strategy. Bastard or not you have Stark blood, just as your sister. I'm Dornish boy, such thing means nothing." Lord Almont said heartily.

Silence filled the tent with unease. _Would father approve?_ "My sister is heir to Winterfell."

"You are just as Stark as me. You should take it. I don't know armies or of ruling... I just want to be back home." Sansa said.

"I'll give you 2,700 men and her dowry, along with my lands should I die in the battle."

 _I would not need to steal her if I wanted her love. She might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms._ A son was something Jon Snow hadn't dared dream again since Stannis offered him lordship to Winterfell. _I could name him Robb._

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. _I have always wanted it_ , he thought guiltily.

Looking to Sansa once more, she nodded. "Yes, I-I consent." _May the Gods forgive me._

Narella had been in Jon's life, briefly, when he was a boy, maybe eight. He remembered her running with Theon, Robb, and himself through the Godswood playing. Much to Lady Catelyn's dismay. _Will she remember the bastard?_

In the colors of House Firestone, his betrothed rode before him. Such colors of white and maroon, stained her golden bronze face of melancholia. Her long, thick, curly ebony hair fell down to her bottom in a wild tumble. Framing her beauty in such a wild estate.

Lady Narella Firestone had caught Jon's eye the day she had traveled with her father to Winterfell. He had caught a glimpse of her over her horse. She smiled so prettily, Jon looked down at the basket of fresh vegetables from the market he was carrying, blush tinging his cheeks. Never a noble girl would of minded such boy.

"My Lady Firestone." Jon greeted as she approached.

Her doe eyes wide and alert, "my lord. It is a pleasure to see you once more." Jon helped her from her horse. Leading her toward his tent. Well aware of her shivering body he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. They'd only have the moment before they would be whisked away in matrimony.

"I'm sorry for meeting under these circumstances. I'd sooner wed in Winterfell, under the heart tree..." Looking upon the map on the table, she looked to him, as if in doubt.

"It is not your fault, my lord. Believe it or not, it is safer here than home has ever been. Roose and Ramsay, made sure of that."

"I'm sorry for what you endured, my lady..." _Pretty words. She is to be my wife._ "After the war, I'll show you how life should've been."

"Please, call me Narella. I-I want us to know each other now. A-after our wedding night..." she said shyly.

Mustering up his courage as he drew closer to her. "I would be delighted, please call me Jon-" the sound of the tent flap opening was heard, as Ser Davos entered.

"-My lord, my lady. It is time."


	2. Chapter 2

Narella

The ground was littered with pine needles and blown leaves, a carpet of white still damp from the recent snowfall. It squished beneath their feet. Huge bare oaks, tall sentinels, and hosts of soldier pines stood all around them. On a hill above them stood the weirwood tree, ancient and ominous, thick green moss crawling up its sides.

The wedding was to be the same day they've met. It had been faster than she anticipated as the day crept. She knew of her wedding before they've met though it had been far too rushed for her to properly come to reality.

After Jon Snow and Sansa Stark departed Ravenwood with no alliance, her father came to her of news of a possible betrothal. She knew her father seen the reward he would gain though he'd been apologizing to her. _What do you need I forgive father? You've given me a betrothal with a Great House. I am honored_ , she remembered saying. Other than the thoughts of her true feeling. _I'm frightened._

Before the ceremony they held word with each other in the midst of preparations. "Do you remember the training pen? And I got my arrow below the mark? You laughed so much at me! Rob was there..." reminiscing of her brother. _Show him you're lively,_ her mother's voice echoed. "And you told me girls shouldn't have a bow if they couldn't use it. Well now, someday we should have a challenge."

He whipped his head toward Narella, smiling widely. "You missed the mark and you were boasting, so I laughed. Your challenge shall be met." He laughed as he told. _I could get used to that laugh. His smile. Eyes._

Starting with the procession from the Gift to the heart tree nearest. As custom, Lord Firestone escorted his daughter down to her betrothed. The groom waiting under the heart tree asks, "Who comes? Who comes before the Gods?"

"Lady Narella Firestone of House Firestone comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"I, Jon Snow of House Stark. Claim her. Who gives her?"

His voice strong and boisterous, her father spoke clearly. "Lord Almont Firestone of House Firestone, father of the bride," her father turned to her, and asked, "Lady Narella Firestone, will you take this man?"

Timidly, "I take this man."

A kiss to the cheek, her father's hand replaced to Jon's. Joining hands the pair knelt before the heart tree, bowing their heads in submission to the Gods. Spending a few moments in silent prayer.

Now standing, the groom replaced the maiden cloak of white fur trim, red field with a stone warrior enveloped in flames. Cloaking her under his protection he clasped the white trimmed fur on white field with a grey direwolf onto her shoulders. The vows sealed with a kiss.

Narella avoided his gaze sheepishly. Focusing on the cold hands that held hers, the lips that met hers.

Hand in hand, the solemn party moved back to the Gift. Immediately being showered with cheers and snow.

Under the manse set up before the trees, they broke their fast on honey cakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. The wedding party was a joyous occasion. Full of dancing, laughter, overall good will, and mirth. _Father certainly had brought much entertainment and happiness to the wedding._ She had seen the tear that ran down his face during the ceremony. Yet he was very happy drinking ale and telling his war stories to Jon, beside him.

Torches were lit as dusk crept in. Her mother's singer played "The Vows spoken" and "Seasons of My Love" and "Two Hearts that Beat as One." Lively tunes created from such a silk tongue. Several younger knights even asked Lady Sansa to dance. Her refusal well defined on her features. In grace did she accept in deceiving happiness.

Hesitantly, Jon grinned and grasped his bride's hand where he pulled her to dance. Striking up a waltz alongside the rest of the dancers, their happiness almost contagious. _Please be happy with me._

"Do you enjoy yourself?" The proximity of their bodies inches apart. Hard did she triumph over the fawning adoration of such a man before her. Late in her reactions of answering did he notice her stare. Blushing madly she focused elsewhere. _Anywhere._

"Immensely. It has been long seeing such joy in the North. I say it is much needed in the upcoming battle." A small smile adorn her features. "Do you husband?"

From a smirk to a solemn stare. Jon told nothing upon his expression. _How will I read such a man?_ "Immensely," he repeated back.

After the dance, the couple settled back toward the trestle table. Her northman husband raised a hand to a passing servant who nodded and curtsied before she went off, returning with a goblet of ale. Emptying with two deep gulps he set the goblet aside. His wife couldn't help, but grin at him over the rim of her chalice.

"The bedding!" A soldier yelled. The crowd took up the cry in lively shouts. Surrounding them amongst the table, the men took ahold of her. Before they could rip her garments, her husband forcefully shoved a Ravenwood soldier from his prying hands.

"Do not touch her." Jon ordered. Offering his hand, they walked down to his tent in silence. Silence that compelled her to look to the man before her. Clasped hands that made her blush so heatedly she felt her palms sweat again. _He is handsome._

The more she observed him, the more she came to admire his looks. His beautiful grey eyes focused on the unknown as they stared in the distance to his tent. _Their tent._

 _Please, Gods let me know of love. If you're so cruel, make my womb quicken with his seed for I can dote on our child. I'll give him many and strong, and he'll be proud. Would he?_


	3. Chapter 3

Jon

Naked, alone they stood in his tent. The tension grew.

Silence. Silence. Silence.

His wife walked toward the feathered bed, hurriedly. _Ygritte, I'm sorry._ Gulping down the last of his ale, he turned to her. Growing bolder, he approached.

A gasp sounds. "Gods! How...!? Who...?" Narella asked in shock.

 _She's noticed my scars. My payment for my decisions; my life._

"My brothers. Some men of the Night's Watch stabbed me... each of 'em." Jon looked away.

"W-why? How?"

He looked in her eyes, "didn't like the Free Folk passing over the Wall... I died. Ghost... And the red woman saved me. I don't know how." _I_ _shouldn't continue this conversation now_.

Shock and confusion, painted her face. "You're a warrior my husband," she said, sounding nervous.

Slipping under the furs, Jon observed her frantic eyes off to the darkness. _I'm sorry._ Turning to her, "I'm sorry it has to be this way. With me."

"Apologies aren't needed Jon." Reaching a hand to her, he grasped her chin to look upon her. Soothing her skin there, he slowly leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

 _Sweet. Sweet and warm._

It was a desperate kiss, filled with need. He felt her succumb to his lips. Gripping her waist tightly, he feverishly moved his lips against hers, slipping his tongue between her lips.

Jon pulled her closer, so their bodies were flush against her. Breast pressed against his hard chest, her hands explored his arms; feeling the hard defined muscles. Timid hands roamed over his collar bone and then embedded themselves into the mess of his brown hair at the nape of his neck.

Kissing her slowly, his fingers indented her skin. She tasted of spices and a hint of wine; it was a glorious, heady combination.

His body played the part eagerly enough. He concentrated on his rough hands touching her so gently. The sweet taste of her on his tongue. He slid inside her, hearing the muffled cry that came out of her mouth, smothered by his lips.

Jon tried to be gentle; the last thing he wanted was to hurt her as he took her maidenhead. Knotting his hands into her thick wavy curls, he growled softly.

He kissed her again whilst he thrusted into her. His wife letting out a cry of pain. Immediately, he stopped.

"Slow. Please. It..." She stopped suddenly.

Jon stilled, guilty for not noticing her discomfort. _Slow Snow. Slow. It may feel glorious to you, but to her it's pain._ Her eyes had been closed with an open and inviting mouth.

He shallowly thrusted into her, going as slow as he can. Stopping when he would hear her gasps or the feeling of her nails biting his skin. Jon wanted nothing more to go faster and pound her to his release. _No, slow._

His motions continuously gentle and loving. She clutched him closer to her body, he moved. Kissing down her brown colored neck then every inch of her skin.

 _Ygritte._

Reveling in every thrust and breath she took. He swelled with every stroke within her. Her wet walls clenching ever tightly to his member.

 _Ygritte._

Jon could feel his stomach tense up with the rhythm. His beard cheek against her soft skin. Hearing Narella's soft puffs of breath.

As he thrust into her again, making her moan, he could feel her tense around himself. Growling, he thrust again and the knots suddenly unwound in his stomach, causing his wife to cry out loudly. Every fibre of his being trembling with pleasure, he thrust erratically inside her, breathing hard in her ear. His seed spilling in her.

"Ygritte."

* * *

Meeting Ramsay, behind Winterfell, felt wrong to him. His father's land and his before, invaded by enemies.

"My beloved wife," Ramsay Bolton said, through small, close-set eye. "I've missed you terribly. Thank you for returning, Lady Bolton safely. Now dismount and kneel before me, surrender your army, and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house."

None said a word and none would.

"Come, bastard, you don't have the men, and you don't have forces, and you don't have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls to slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel, I'm a man of mercy."

 _Good thing I commanded Lord Firestone to stay at the Gift._ _Knowing our only powerful ally would be obvious knowing how many men are now in our army._

"You're right there's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us." Ramsay smiled. "Let's end this the old way, you, against me."

Ramsay laughs, "I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you, but I know my army would beat yours. I have 6,000. You have, what, half that? Not even?-"

"-Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?"

He pointed laughingly at Jon. "He's good. Very good. Tell me. Will you let your little brother die, because you're too proud to surrender?" Ramsay replied.

"How do we know you have him?" Sansa asks blankly.

Ramsay nodded, to the Greatjon Umber. Out of the black sack, the Greatjon tossed a large, black furry head of a direwolf. _Shaggydog._

"Now, if you want to save-"

"-You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well." Sansa says furiously, riding off fast.

Ramsay smirks, "she's a fine woman, your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed." Not again, you won't, once I'm done with you. "And your all fine-looking men. My dogs are desperate to meet you. I haven't fed them for seven days. They're ravenous! I wonder which part they'll try first? Your eyes? Your balls!? We'll find out soon enough. In the morning then, bastard." Ramsay turns his horse, along with Lord Karstark and the Greajon.


	4. Chapter 4

Narella

The freedom she had compared to none she was given after the war. Though the thought of death set an unnerving mood surrounding her being. She had no care for her safety. _I am free,_ she thought.

Narella's walk through camp was a painful one. The sting between her legs prevented her to go on further. Every step a reminder of last night. She refused to think of him. And then she would, leading more scorn to herself. _He'd been so cold,_ she thought.

Nevertheless, she strived forward in hurt. Her pain could not amount to the independence she finally felt. No mother demanding her stay. No septa condemning every unlady like behavior she presented. None could say her last days were captive of stone walls. _No more._

During his leave, Jon ordered Ghost to stay with his lady wife. Intimidating he is, he obeyed. Little care did she have of fear upon approaching the direwolf near the clearing of the bushels and pine needle trees. _Fear would not prevent me to experience such a curiosity_. Mustering her courage did she slowly ran her hands through his white fur in triumph.

 _Red eyes that are darker than garnets._ Ghost hadn't stay near long enough, trotting further into the the white. Leaving her in awe of him. _They were just stories before._

The sounds of hooves landing on the ground and the hollering of men, invaded the air; interrupting her thought heroism. Narella turned toward the sound and seen her father through the thin trees, and Jon amongst the men riding towards their tent.

As hurriedly she can, she walked toward the guards she dismissed near the opening of the woods. _What was the point of having Ghost with me if he couldn't solely protect me? I do not stray far._

"Lucan." Lucan had been a childhood friend since she was a girl of four. _He is everything I'm not. Daring and quite the charmer. He proved that enough when he was found in bed with a knights wife._ Narella was grateful for his company, when he volunteered for a part of her guard.

Lucan nodded, leading the small group of men to the commander's tent. "Narella, I'll have you know this will be the last time I disobey your lord's orders. If I'd-"

"-You won't. I had a companion. Besides I was ten steps over the bushels. What does it matter? And if he had I'd say you were doing your duty and following my command."

"Your orders mean nothing compared to his words. He isn't your father who'll sigh and order us to follow. No matter your say. I won't lose my head over this."

 _Would he really do something like that?_ "What... why would he do that?" She asked, nervously.

"He's a northman. The men of the North are hard and show order in their ranks. I don't know if I'd would lose my head, but I do know I'd like to keep it."

Never had Lucan given her such a look. _Was he really angry with me? I should've done my duty, but how I longed for escape. Nagged for it._

Upon entering the tent, Narella trained her sight to her trunk nearest the feathered bed. Hoping to not see her husband in his usual place. _Who's Ygritte? Was she his and only his? I came a maiden willing._

"Lady Narella," Jon greeted, with a small smile quickly fading. "How do you fare? Apologies I hadn't stayed with you."

"We're at war." Was all she could say. Hard did she fight to look to him. Her curiosity outweighed the urge to avoid his grey eyes.

In place he looked to her all the same. "We go to battle tomorrow."

"You'll fight bravely as you had before; as a man of the Nights Watch." She mustered.

Concentrating on the map in the middle of the tent, no other words were spoken. Discreetly, she settled into the cot reading of the Dance of Dragons. Try as she might, the lingering stares of her husband distracted her.

The constant burning of his attention finally reached her discomfort. Fast as she could, she undressed herself for the night. Revealing herself to him, Narella quickly clutched her smallclothes tighter. In hopes to cover her shown self.

Without notice of his demeanor, she climbed into bed hurriedly. Soundly she slept in the furs ignoring the rustling of markers against the table. She hadn't been aware he had left their tent in the hours past.

The lean body of her husband awoke her in the night of her slumber. Moving the covers he stretched inside. Subsiding near her, Narella ignored his huffs, trying to quiet her mind of embracing him for she'd been frigid. The valley had been warmer than the Gift, a sudden change she hadn't prepared for. Giving her to the chill with another that laid beside her.

In wrapt in her attempts to sleep, she hadn't noticed Jon's presence gone. His withdrawal brought a sudden sadness to her already bruised heart. No matter his affections for another. "Jon?"

Her call placing him still before the opening of the tent. Ever so slightly he turned to her. "Nerves, my lady. Rest."

"I'm afraid. Please don't go." _You sound like a child._ She chided herself in speaking so desperate.

"Don't be frightened." Jon tried to sound confident. Heading back to her side he sat alongside her.

 _How can I not? "_ You go to battle. Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"

Timidly, she grazed her palm against his thigh. His gaze softened at her action. "There's no shame in fear, my father told me, what matter's is how we face it."

 _Nothing_ _like a women's embrace before battle_ _,_ her lord father had said to his men before the camp fire. Awaiting their Lord Commander Snow to arrive. _He abandoned honor and bedded Falia, a camp follower._

Lady Narella mustered her courage, showing her husband her appreciation. Roaming down to his breeches she rubbed him. The quickening of his breath encouraged her to continue. Lying down to her, he seized her thigh toward his hip. Hissing at her pain, she pushed him away. All the while, retreating her captured leg.

Jon stilled her hand. "I brought you pain last night. I seen it in your eyes... We shouldn't."

"You needn't worry. If we're to die on the 'morrow, let us remember tonight." Boldly as she done before, she proceeded to release him. Grabbing his member she began pumping him slowly. _He's so hard_. Up and down, up and down she stroked. His head slumped with his eyes closed as he moaned in ecstasy. Pulling her closer, he nuzzled her nose with his. Creating a loving affair shared in their close space.


	5. Chapter 5

Jon

A gust of wind sent icy tendrils wending their way through the noisy bivouac. The encampments were stirring, their campfires sending up smoky fingers to scratch against the pale dawn sky. Men everywhere, sharpening their swords, putting points on crude spears, donning makeshift armor of hide and horn, and bone.

Before his leave, his gaze lingered toward his sleeping wife. One last look to the ill fated beauty before him. Her bed head crazily frizzed and sporadic. _It reminds me of Ygritte. Never tame._

With the last of the gorget placed and linked, Jon walked toward Longclaw and placed it on the left side of his hip. Leaving the tent, he spotted Lord Firestone, Ser Davos, and Tormund together talking.

"Are we ready?"

"I have killed more o' you than I can count. What's another more?" Tormund's booming voice replied. His laughter so profoundly amused the Lord of Ravenwood.

The men nodded around him in answer. "Lord Firestone have your men surround the calvary after he's post his men. Wait for the signal. Ser Davos, you'll hold. Come once you've seen Ravenwood men form. Tormund, your men and I will lead the attack." All gave their agreement in the devised objective. "Form up," he yelled.

Riding toward Winterfell, Lord Firestone and his men gather toward the small forest near the Long Lake to form his men for the attack. The men learned to climb trees and fight atop with bow, and feather. Whilst the divided men stood below, in cover of the many soldier trees and boulders.

The main force being lead by Jon and Tormund went through the mountains upon the clearing. Bolton men sighted across the field, flayed men in crossings burned before the army.

Riding up front, Jon focused across to find Ramsay Bolton. Striding down his formation, he rode on a black war horse holding a rope. Down he went into the line Jon seen he pulled Rickon in the binds. In anticipation of such horror he'd had to see in helplessness, he mounted off his steed.

Climbing down his war horse, the bastard released his half brother from his bonds, pointing to the Stark calvary.

"Ghost stay!" Eyes wide without thought, he climbed onto his horse, spurring her forward as he seen Ramsay aiming his bow and arrow at a retreating Rickon. "Come on, faster," Jon screamed to his spotted grey war horse.

Quarrel after quarrel, flew and miss, and flew and miss. Reaching for Rickon in the fray, he overcame the last arrow missed. Whispers of his fingers grazed his before the piercing buss of the arrow plunged his heart. His half brother before him on the middle of the field in silent death.

Suddenly, Jon spurred his horse full speed. His grief to great to care of the rain of arrows that showered all around him and yet he kept going. The face of his dead brothers being displayed in his head over and over. His war horse struck with arrow and another, thrown Jon down in a crash.

Grunting, Jon stood stiffly with an ache in his thigh. His intemperate rage uncontainable to worry of the pain. Hearing the thundering of hooves on the ground mingled with the battle cries of the enemy. His sight turned onto the oncoming calvary, he removed his strap for Longclaw. Readying for the onrushing mounted knights charging at him at full tilt.

Closer they came in intimidation. Though nothing would intimidate him anymore than what he'd seen beyond the Wall. This was a game of death and he played the part to extinguish it's opening blow to the half brother he thought gone.

Before the mounts could overcome Jon, all around him screams and horses collided with foe, swathing the field with destruction. The clanging of steel dancing and kissing with every stroke the men played the songs all around him. His Valyrian steel joining the chorus in the triumphal opening chords of his rivals.

A blur of white passed before his eyes ripping a soldier's limb then snapping at his face the next. Arrows showered the air, and luckily Ghost was quick and on to the next prey. _Clink, clink, ggrrrsshh_ , his victim impaled through his breast.

Kill after kill, endless. His blood hot, raging and he couldn't stop. _Stop or die._ What did he care? _The Stanger would take me rightfully, for he was cheated._

The Greatjon Umber charged his force toward the battle, surrounding the army. Arrows from the left side of the field trickled down on the Bolton soldiers. Oppressively constant in assault, Ravenwood men emerged from the forest and charged them unexpectedly. Their numbers dwindling in surprise.

Steel clashed before his cheek and in an instant, he was mauled upon. Jon turned away, facing the Greatjon. _His father's bannerman. Robb's bannerman._ He stepped closer to his adversary. _You'll have a slow death._ Preparing in anticipation Jon inched closer-

-Knocked to the ground by fighting men stampeding over him, he fought. One of the soldiers shielded him in protection. _No! You will not die for me_ , Jon thought. Struggling to push him away. It mattered not, the pressure of the dead men on him suffocated him in the midst.

Pushing, climbing, crawling up through dead bodies he reached upright. Finally hearing the growling of his companion instead of the muffled pit. Tension gripped his arm in a painful pull. With one last tug Ghost released him. Whilst growling to the crowded men about, daring to kill anyone near. The evidence plain of the torn limbs on the ground. Some even screamed still.

Jon breathed heaving heavily. His companion nudged him on to his side to climb onto him. Never had he before, but before Ghost wasn't near as big as a horse.

The white direwolf leaped on the mound of bodies as Jon looked around in awareness of the army. Bolton forces encircled parts of his men in scatter. Many fended against the Firestone soldiers in numbers of ongoing strikes. He'd seen the force was made up of the northern clans that stood to the mountains. A great many that had seeked to free Sansa of her captives when Jon had been Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.

Clearing the air over battle cries and steel, blown a horn. West of the field mounted knights stormed down to the inclosure in force. Dread quickly engulfed him of the surprise attack. Though his half-sister mounted near Petyr Baelish wiped worry, replacing confusion.

Knights of the Vale charged the remaining enemy force in great power. Overcoming the men of crushing beasts on all sides. Upon sighting the numbers extinguished of his men. Ramsay ran off in haste with few soldiers.

The taking of the gate required Wun-Wun the giant in the taking of the castle. Coming from the forest the giant dashed to Winterfell in quake shaking movement. Urging Ghost on, they sped chasing Ramsay home.

The battering of the freshly renewed gate, faltered to the size of Wun-Wun. The Bolton men pierced him atop the battlements continuously with arrow. Though he paid no mind to his wounds for his determination of freedom grew great. Finally, the wood gave in to the pressure of weight. The giant broke apart the gate with one last ram, and trampled every man in his way. Tearing the many apart with his hands, all while yelling in the Old Tongue.

Jumping off Ghost, Jon ran to the courtyard in search of his brother's killer. Foe soldiers poured into the yard and again, steel whispered through the air in song. The dying scream of Wun-Wun silenced the song in sudden halt. Turning, Jon went to comfort his comrade before the stinging kiss of a quarrel peirced his eye, as his last breath escaped. Falling heavily, the last giant stood no more.

"You suggested one on one combat, didn't you?" Ramsay said, surrounded by Free Folk bowmen. "I've reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea." He starts to notch.

Throwing Longclaw, Jon leapt for a Mormont shield and covered. _Thump._ Walking toward Ramsay, he notches again in another attempt. _Thump._ Walking closer, he covered behind the mighty bear. _Thump._ Before he notched, Jon slammed his shield onto his face causing him to break his nose as he smiled on the ground. His bow and arrows now far from his hold.

Ghost's white hair stained of blood, bristled beside him in his snarling of anger. Jon felt it. They both radiated in violence of no sense of self. Of no one. _Kill. Kill._ He threw punch after punch, repeatedly not stopping. The smile of his bloodied face enraged him, sending more blows to his face. The crushing of his skull heard throughout the yard of the brutal scene.

Somehow aware of his sister's presence, Jon looked away in seek. Sansa walked ahead of the men, surrounding him of his brute battering. Realization drenched him as he regained consciousness from the savage state he'd delved into. Now aware of her revenge he stood, breathing heavily.


	6. Chapter 6

Narella

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a chilling crisp that hinted the starting of winter. Arriving to Winterfell had been gruesome of scene. Blood on the field covered the ground whilst the still bodies were tended to by the silent sisters. There was of no ignoring the death that filled the field.

Riding Rain, her palfrey, Lady Narella look around for her husband in hope when she'd arrived. The courtyard bustled with working men as they poured through the castle gates in a river of maroon and black, and polished steel. To her right, her dear friend climbed down his horse in retrieval of her. Her disappointment shown on her features in upset. _My infatuation of him seeks so much. I forget the hard man I wed._

Escorting her into the Great Hall, she found Jon, Ser Davos, and Melisandre. "...I'll have you hanged." Jon said to the red woman.

To the side his wife stood waiting in patience. As Davos exited the Hall after Melisandre, Jon looked to her in approach. "I'm sorry for your brother, Jon... I am sorry, husband," she tentatively kissed his cheek. Gazing to the floor in what she saw to be sorrow, he looked on. "Jon, my father? I've haven't seen him. Do you know where he is?"

"He's hurt badly. The maester is tre-" she ran away in refusal of hearing the dreaded sentence. _Father, not you too. Please, Gods no!_

Opening every door passed, Jon grabbed her arm and led her to him. As the door open, the maester had been bent over her father's bed side. "Father!" Narella cried, rushing toward him, breaking free of Jon's hold. The maester had been in the process of removing the mid upper arm, as he laid on the bed, pale and bloody. Her lord husband covered her eyes quickly from the procedure, pressing her to his chest.

"My lady, you mustn't be here. I must continue the surgery. The flesh has been damaged." The maester said urgently.

She pulled at him in disobedience away from the doorway. Although the thought of staying with such sight struck pain. Reluctantly she played fumbling wife in his guidance away. "You shouldn't had, have to see that. I'll take you to our chambers."

"Will he live? Had the maester tell you anything? Please, Jon!" She pulled her arm away, stopping.

His eyes searched her face before replying soothingly, "Once the infection is gone he should be well. Your lord father is a fighter." Tears brimming her eyes he'd taken her hand whilst he led her to their chambers. Closing the door, he enveloped her into his arms toward the feathered bed.

His words were no comfort to her thoughts. Jon rubbed her back in slow movements of ease. A few moments passed as she silently cried on. "I'm sorry, Jon. You have much to do. You need not see me like this."

"You're hurting. I won't leave you. Unless it is what you want."

Shaking, she nodded in thanks. Once more filling the air with her heartbreaking cries of a pending doom she awaited. The overwhelming sadness and tears lulled her asleep on his lap as he told her stories of Symeon Star-Eyes; a legendary figure from the Age of Heroes who was blind. According to legend, Symeon was a knight who lost both of his eyes. He replaced them by putting star sapphires in the empty sockets, or so the singers claim. He fought with a long staff with blades at both ends and would spin it in his hands to chop down two men at once.

Awoken by a strong hand grasping her shoulder. Her sight focused to the northman bent over her with one hand placed on her. "I am sorry to have woken you, my lady." Jon Snow said.

The delicious smell of honey cakes on the table near the window wafted to her rumbling stomach. Yawning, she sat up slowly, taking in the surrounding. Jon sat across the table drinking ale while preparing to eat his fill. "You are quite fine husband. I am hungry now that I am awake."

Nodding, Jon began his dinner as she done the same. Glancing at one another at times and looking elsewhere at others, she felt content. Smirking at his messy eating habits, she contemplated on helping him. His grey eyes, questioning, "what?"

Laughing, she reached over, brushing away the crumbs of bread that had settled on his beard "You had crumbs. Mess-eater," she teased.

He lightly laughed, "thanks, wife. I may need more help with other dishes. They say we northerners eat barbaric."

"My northman..." eyes widening with comprehension of her unintentional endearment. _Did I say that out loud!?_ Reddening, she continued eating silently.

His blush prominent. Jon looked away reticently. "And I am yours... If you'd like, after I've written to the northern houses to gather and pledge their fealty, we could go to the Wolfswood and take that challenge?"

She smiled so much it hurt that moment. _Let this be the start of our love._ It'll warm the very heart she had forgotten on the death of her latest brother. "Yes, I-I would love that."


	7. Chapter 7

Jon

When dawn broke, Jon had taken his lady wife to the Wolfswood the next day as promised. Summoning a score of men as protection should anything happen on their journey. He set the pace, driving his black destrier in a gallop along his wife.

Narella had been found in the courtyard with Sansa in conversation. The words spoken of younger days of loved ones missed. His sister spoke little in contribute although the hint of a smile replied.

"You know, my brother was quite smitten with your beauty. He could never stop speaking of that fantasy wedding he so hoped for! Do you remember him well?"

In notice of his presence, his wife's short smile ended the one sided verse in respect. "Free you go sister. I shall keep you no more."

"Have a pleasant hunt, my lady. Jon."

After exiting the gates of Winterfell, Jon thought of something clever to say to his brown beauty. Anything to pursue the feeling he felt when he is with her. _Though I'm guilty of thinking of Ygritte._ "Do we have to slowly ride? I want the wind lashing at my face and then the feel of a bow in my hands, it has been so long!" Narella said, interrupting his thoughts.

He liked this side of her. She wanted no pretty words but the adventure. "No pretty words for you then," Jon teased.

Laughing, she smiled to him brightly. "I have years to hear them husband. Who knows, maybe you'll woo me later." Before thought, she sped her palfrey ahead. Laughing loudly as Jon trailed behind.

The wolfswood stretches across the northwestern part of the north toward the edge of the wood the party dismounted. Setting five men with the horses and the rest to follow. Jon had been wary of danger since the Wall. The beginning of his family's downfall.

Narella had wore riding clothing for the occasion and he found himself wishing she'd wear it all the time. _I don't deserve it or her._ They walked around the bare pines finding game on the trails. She strayed away in search though Jon saw the hare ahead too late. Her keen eye quick she loosed before he could see notch.

She smiled widely retrieving her rabbit. "Where's that challenge Lord Snow?"

The wind cold and fierce they trudged together against the push. Day had yeilded to dusk quickly to it's bloody surrender. In the prowl of the ground the lovers hunted their fill of game.

"No fair! Ghost helped you with the last boar. The sneak! I see why'd you called him that."

Their laughter filling him with happiness. He brought his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I think that's a draw."

"Tell me true... Who's Ygritte? I-I heard you when we..."

Stunned, "she was my love. I met her before. Beyond the Wall." _Had I talked of her? "_ When we, what?"

"Our wedding night, my lord." Narella had said walking off. Memories of the first night ended in a slumber of bliss. Guilty of using her body for comfort. Like a boy during his first woman.

 _What?_ Stupidly, he stood planted. Thinking back to that night he hadn't remembered saying her name. "I did not know of saying her-"

Catching up to her near the stream she waved him off in silence. "-Stop. I shouldn't have brought it up. I just wanted to... She's lucky."

" _She was."_ His answer brought a sorrow to her features in one steady swoop of words. Immediately, his guilt overcame him of the sudden sadness he caused. "I could never ask anything of you but your time... For however long we have. I'm trying... Miserably, I know."

Jon knew his words didn't ease her. He didn't think they would. Brown eyes casted to the ground told all to him of the bastard he was walking back toward the steeds. The ride home had been silent between the two.

* * *

Entering the Hall had been a solemn march together pass the lords and ladies of the north. Many of the houses that were summoned had been seated on long tables below the raised dais. Sitting there felt odd to Jon. Having always previously sat beneath the platform. Jon remembered when King Robert was a guest at Winterfell, he had sat with young squires getting drunk for the first time. _It seemed a lifetime ago._

A knight of Lord Umber's retinue spoke aloud them in a commanding voice in start. "You can't expect the North to side with Wildling invaders!"

"We didn't invade. We were invited." Tormund spoke in ragged sheepskins eating a chicken in one fist.

Jon stood abrubtly, "the Free Folk and the northerners fought bravely, fought together, and we won. My father used to say we find our true friends in the battlefield-"

"The Boltons are defeated, the war is over. Winter has come. If the maesters are right, it'll be the coldest one in a thousand years. We should ride home and wait out the common storms." Lady Cerwyn said, homely.

"The war is not over, and I promise you, my lady, the true enemy won't wait out the storm. He brings the storm."

The Hall once again erupted in murmurs amongst the men and women.

"Your son was butchered at the Red Wedding, Lord Manderly, but you refused the call. You swore allegiance to House Stark, Lord Glover, but in their hour of greatest need, you refused the call. And, you, Lady Cerwyn, your brother was killed during the sack of Winterfell, still you refused the call. House Umber remembers, House Firestone remembers, and House Mormont remembers. The North remembers. We know no king, but the King of the North who's name is Stark. I don't care if he's a bastard. Ned Stark's blood runs through his veins. He's my king from this day, until his last day." A few cheers had been heard and many murmured at Lady Lyanna Mormont's speech.

"Lady Mormont, speaks harshly and truly. My son died for Robb Stark, the Young Wolf. I didn't think we'd find another king in my lifetime. I didn't commit my men to your cause, 'cause I didn't want more Manderlys dying for nothing. But I was wrong. Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding. He is the White Wolf. The King in the North." Lord Manderly had said, bending the knee.

Lord Glover stood, "I didn't fight beside you on the field and I will regret that until my dying day. A man can only admit he was wrong and asks for forgiveness."

"There's nothing to forgive, my lord." Jon replied, stunned.

"There will be more fights to come. House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years. And I will stand behind Jon Snow... the King in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

"THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH! THE KING IN THE NORTH!" The Great Hall erupted in the same chant as the men drew their swords, raised.

Looking to Sansa for assurance, Jon seen the nod and smile she directed at him. Turning, he embraced his title with honor.


	8. Chapter 8

Narella

A moon had since passed the feast that had proclaimed Jon, King in the North. Her husband had been made for the role as she knew he would but being Queen in the North had been tedious with taking account of the holdings; the new smallfolk they'd gain from the Free Folk and the many responsibilities that came with the role.

She'd been very grateful of having Sansa. Her help in the restoration of Winterfell proved to be great help. Narella had been learning from her. _Even if she hardly pays me mind._

Her visit to her father now that he had been awake, been a breath of air she hadn't realized she held. His stay day by day grew bitter after. _With half an arm he suffers._ The Lord of Ravenwood found it harder to accept the lost. "I won't be able to use a bow for the rest of my life... that's the hardest!"

 _Here alive while so many died. And he lives complaining._ "Many died in that battle! You're lucky to be alive. Think of mother. She hasn't left the holding because she's scared of everyone. She needs you. My _babe_ needs you."

Fumbling over his bickering words, he grinned happily. Tentatively touching her small bump. "Really? Does the king know of such joy created?"

 _"Why must you always talk of him."_ Her tone bitter in anger. Lord Almont knew how his daughter hurt. So plain on her face whilst she did her duties. Every day his hope of encouragement lingered. _Every bloody day._ " Apologies father. I do not intend to fight you of him. I'll try to be the good wife you hoped I can be."

Grunting at her statement, "you already are. Do not despair daughter. He shall too see the vision you are." Hugging her so warmly before he grunted.

She'd hoped her father's words true. Some part of her knew he held some care for her. The nights they spend with each other that shown his day's stress, ended with his adventures of how he became. She always asked. _He's a hero like in the stories I read._

"He must sleep my queen. His body is too weak still." Maester Wolkan spoke behind her. Near the door he stood with milk of the poppy.

Her hand held his in one last meet. "Gather your strength lord father. I'll be back soon." Reaching for the poppy the maester held, he handed it to her. Carefully she tilted his head as his mouth opened. Setting the now empty vial, she wiped his brow of sweat.

Leaving her father's sick bed, Narella found herself in deep thought of that fated night. The memory of her discovery of their first child so sweet, she found herself walking to their bedchambers. _A happy memory._

As she lay under the furs shivering whilst she slept wrapped into fur. Unbeknownst her, Jon lit a fire in the hearth when he entered their chambers in the late hours before dawn. Her body still shivering in a bundle. Unexpectedly, Jon reached out grabbing her small form from behind.

The night after his hurtful words were also shared in an embracive hold. She'd find him curled like a babe behind her every morn. Though the unintentional move did little to console her in his subconscious state.

Awake from his touch she tentatively turned to him. Her movement causing tension in his groin. "Are you awake my king?"

The hand holding her waist squeezed in reply. She'd hope what she said next would assure her of a future of his happiness. Hoping his reaction to be thrilled. Anything, but unwant.

"I have news. It is quite early but I'm overjoyed... I'm with child..."

The silence that preceded Narella's words was all-encompassing. Unable to believe what she had just said Jon broke the silence by gently turned her gaze intently into his eyes. "Are you sure?" she nodded, feeling hurt. _He didn't want him or her... Just as he doesn't want I._

The only sound in the room was the cracking and popping of the fire in the wrought iron grate of the stone. His wife turned around and moved over away from Jon. Where she sat down gazing into the fire.

"Are you absolutely sure?" He asked her again.

"Of course I am. Why is that hard for you to believe, _Your Grace_?"

Jon shook his head. She knew calling him so formally would bother him. "Don't call me that. Not you." His voice stern and true. "It's not hard to believe. It's just... I never realized that it would be this soon! That-that I would become a father this soon." He told her as he moved over to her and got down on his knees before her. He took her hands within his and pressed his lips to them, never once breaking eye contact with her.

"I thought you wouldn't want them..." She sniffed, tears welled up in her eyes. Jon reached forward and gently wiped away her tears with his thumb.

"They're mine and yours. Of course I want 'em... I want you."

"Truly?" _Oh, please do not let me suffer the fool I am._

The small smile he gave in hopes to assure her caused her to smile right back to him. _B_ _eautiful._ "Aye, I do."

Moving closer to her, he pulled her into his arms. Returning to their bed, she buried herself into his side. He soothingly ran his hand down her hair as he reclined back against the headboard. The hand that was not trailing its fingers gently through her hair, had settled over her stomach, creating a comforting, protective weight, that she knew she would miss as soon as he took it away.

* * *

The following morning Jon went hunting with a retinue of men while the queen spent time with Ser Davos. Speaking of the summons of both queens of the south. "What exactly do we have to offer the Dragon Queen?" Narella asked while they walked around feeding Winterfell's smallfolk. The harvest had been few since battle. None would come from the south, the only option left was to purchase from the east; to Yunkai to Mereen. _Thank the Gods for father._

"Apart from familiarity with the space she's inhabiting, not much," Davos admits. "Just my word that the king would strike a deal for her dragonfire."

"Wouldn't it be wiser to answer Cersei's summons instead?"

The onion knight sighed. "Much as I'd favor peace, I tire of cruelty in leaders. Your husband isn't cruel, Your Grace, and I trust his sister when she says that Cersei is."

Ending empty with handouts, their escort led them back to the holdings. Many bowed and thanked the generosity of the queen as the she touched many of their hands and babes. Halting at times to converse with the good people of Winter Town.

Arriving in the holdings, Jon was accompanied by Lord Glover and their entourage. "I caught a fox for you. You're going to need warmer gowns when winter comes and maybe some new thicker gloves, my queen." Jon informed her, rubbing her small belly.

Letting a smirk form on her lips, she decided to tease her husband in front of his men. "Thank goodness it was just a fox. I don't think our bed could handle another large bear fur being thrown across it."

"You should be thanking me for this winter will be the coldest in history," Jon asserted.

"I'll be too cozy in my bed to even remember to thank you." She promised with a chaste kiss to his cheek.

Jon returned her kiss with a small bashful smile of his own. Breaking their moment, he announced the feast will be at nightfall. "What feast?"

Leading her further inside, he handed her a letter. "we may have a chance to fight. This message was sent to me by Samwell Tarly."


	9. Chapter 9

Jon

The ominous Hall full of northmen gathered with their fellow Houses. To learn of such fable threats they never saw. Threats he wish were stories of Old Nan's. _Are they all true?_

"... He was my brother at the Night's Watch, a man I trust as much as anyone in this world. He's discovered proof that Dragonstone sits on a mountain of dragonglass."

The men murmured in response. Skepticism shown on Lord Glover's features as Jon handed him the letter. "I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone. It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister. He is now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back and, if this message is to be believed, three dragons."

The murmurs grew gruff and louder than before. Queen Narella sat silently in focus of his every word. An encouragement he hadn't thought he needed in her presence.

"Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys. And I'm going to accept."

His words caused shouts to erupt in defiance of such decision. Jon knew it would not be favorable. "Accept!?" Someone shouted above the others.

He'd seen his acceptance hadn't been assuring to Sansa as well his wife."We need this dragonglass, my lords! We know that dragonglass can destroy both white walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons." Everywhere he looked was of disapproval. Shaking heads. Worried eyes. "But more importantly we need allies! The Other's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. We don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragonfire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us. Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone."

"Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather? The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive." His sister's tone assertive.

"I know that."

"She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those kingdoms. This isn't an invitation; it's a trap."

Agreement held full in the room. "It could be but I don't believe Tyrion would do that. You know him. He's a good man."

"Your Grace, with respect, I must agree with princess Sansa. I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted. Nor can a Lannister." Lord Nestor Royce spoke out.

"Yea!" Shouts screamed with Lord Royce.

Lord Glover stood, "aye. We called your brother King. And then he rode south and lost his kingdom."

Lady Mormont stood quickly, "winter is here, Your Grace. We need the King in the North in the North."

"Aye!" The men pounded the tables in accord.

"You all crowned me your king. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me, and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds. But the odd are against us. None of you have seen the Army of the Dead. None of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies, powerful allies. I know it's a risk. But I have to take it."

The sound of his sister's chair scraping against the stone floors stunned his wife. Clutching her belly protectively. "Then send an emissary. Don't go yourself."

"Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can convince her to help us. It has to be me."

"You're abandoning your people! You're abandoning your home."

"I'm leaving both in good hands."

"Whose?"

"Yours. You are my sister. You're the only Stark in Winterfell. Until I return, the North is yours."

Lord Firestone gave a stern gruff in refusal. Although his gaze toward his daughter silenced him with one look. He'd seen she wasn't pleased. _She doesn't know Winterfell like Sansa._

* * *

In the crypts below Winterfell Jon solemnly stood. His father's statue did no justice to the man he knew. He'd hope he made him proud. In the memories of his past were interrupted by the sounds of footfalls.

"I delivered his bones myself. Presented them to Lady Catelyn as a gesture of goodwill from Tyrion Lannister. Seems like a lifetime ago. Do give Lord Tyrion my best when you see him. I was sorry when he died. Your father and i had our differences, but he loved Cat very much. So did I. She wasn't fond of you, was she? Well, it appears she vastly underestimated you. Your father and brothers are gone, yet here you stand, King in the North. Last best hope against the coming storm."

"You don't belong down here."

"Forgive me. We haven't ever talked... properly. I wanted to remedy that."

"I have nothing to say to you."

Refusing to stay in the presence of Littlefinger, he walked away.

"Not even "thank you"? If it weren't for me, you'd have been slaughtered on that battlefield. You have many enemies my king, but I swear you, I'm not one of them. Your wife was present to witness your ascent. My only condition is that she again be present to witness your acknowledgment..."

Anger consumed him at the mention of Narella in such a vile tongue of Petyr Baelish. In turn, Jon ceased his neck in his grip. Choking him while he clawed at his hand to break away. His struggles were of no attempt.

"Touch my wife, and I'll kill you myself."

Departing the crypt, he went to mount his steed in leave. Sansa stood atop the walkway in his departure with his queen. With a wave he smiled. His sister returned his gesture.

With one last look he memorized the sight of _her._ Her hand never strayed from her belly and worried eyes compelled him to stay. Hoping the smile he displayed comfort her.

 _Farewell, my queen._


	10. Chapter 10

Narella

The cold chill of winter brushed her neck with goose prickles. Red leaves littered the blanket of snow in the lake she passed. Ready to be taken hold of the cold's freezing bite. And the watcher stood broad and seeking.

She'd always been curious of the faith. The dead tree of Ravenwood still had such presence lingering. Always feeling the watchful eyes of the Old Gods. Her parent's thought her explorative of the religion. Though she had taken quite a liken to them. _I am never lonely. Or, so, I thought._

The flutter in her belly directed the queen to her wonder. "Do you hear them too? Their words in the wind."

Her moment interrupted by the sound of her name. Lucan relieved the guard who'd stood outside the Godswood. His smile wicked.

"Who's the woman who's smile you carry? No? Who's pockets you picked?"

Seating himself on the ground near her. Greeting her with a playful shove to her shoulder. Laughing, "she resides beyond reach, my queen of winter. Open to the world she dreams of her adventure. Besides I have been given hope."

Her gaze returned to the weirwood. Thoughts failing to think of anything or anyone other than Jon. Ever since he'd gone she felt the need to be near him. She remembered the directed gazes she avoided in the courtyard. The meeting of hers to his heated her to the core. Remembering their blissful night. His eyes told all to her now.

 _He does this for his sister. For me. For our babe. The people._

"What a relief to hear the Lucan Harlow change his whorish ways. What gives you hope dear friend?" She knew her joke would make him laugh harder. He'd always did when she used such foul language.

His grin that stood changed to a loving gaze she never seen before. The distance hadn't been noticed of the heated look. Quickly, she moved away nervously.

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. The deep blue sea calling her to see. "I thought you love me. Do you lie?"

"I was a maiden. Foolish to say such things that I could not control. Jon Snow is my husband. And I will never touch another."

The night before her wedding was a night she thought she'd missed. Sold off to a man she had heard so little of since their brief meet. The kiss she willingly gave to her friend was thought to be the last of her love for a fondness she thought great.

"You admit you loved me! I want you. Call the marriage a sham. Run aw-"

"-Lucan are you mad? I will do no such thing. And I do not love you in the way you want."

Red of face he stood quickly in his rejection. She hadn't noticed the letter he held in his fume. "What do you hold?"

"Is it true? Do you carry his child? We can always settle that if it were the matter."

"I could never! How dare you say such vile words!? I would never do such to our child." Narella hadn't blamed him to feel such disappointment. _Though this goes too far._ "Leave or I'd do something you'd regret to ever talk of such horrid utterance."

The sigh and heavy footfalls told all to her of his anger. Narella did not care for his love of her. _Friend_ _or no he will regret what his ignorance spews._

His presence now gone from her sight, she resumed to pray. _Guide my lord husband as you guide him now. With sword and tongue. He must be sharp and fluent, now that Winter is here. Show my father patience, for he, so, easily forgets. Let him know sense before he gives himself away. And protect us from the coming storms._

Night falls quickly as day came. Her reluctance to go back into the castle had been a demanding refusal to herself. All the signs of a gone beloved had dampened the place she learned to call home.

The day of his leave opened her to a powerful feeling of longing. Longing for a husband she grew fond of. It was of little notice to her. It overcame her in realization that day.

The day she wanted to scream to bring her with. Anything to have her go with. And yet the butterflies she felt of their babe cautioned her of such a dangerous journey.

The moon they spent together had been quiet; a dismal affair of careful glances and actions. The feeling of his eyes burning her skin whenever they'd catch themselves awake in each other's presence. Those moments were spent of late night talks. So many of them lasted in such bliss she'd thought she'd never have.

Such sweet cold she'd embraced for every second she had with him. A deep breath Narella had taken in fustration of her lateness. _Had I ignored it?_ She'd seen it on his face of, so, many a time. _Did I willingly choose to not accept his love?_

The trembling hand she smoothed over her stomach, feeling how the swell was taking shape despite not being all that so, she'd feared for the very life they created in their tryst. Every touch eased her worry of every damning tragedy she could ever imagine.

Now, her loneliness had been silent and unnerving due to the sudden unease she felt. Gripping the small dagger her father gifted her on the belt, she faced the opening of the Godswood. Though the presence she felt wasn't treacherous.

Red eyes glowed in the dark to her in silence. The white of his fur blended with snow. Neck craning to her belly with a sniff. "Yes, Ghost. Jon's babe." Her hand petted his head. "Sorry beautiful. I mustn't stay long. I grow colder by the moment."

Reluctantly, she walked off with an observant direwolf in her wake. A smile to the silent wolf she walked to the gate. _Least_ _I had father._ _I had Jon._


	11. Chapter 11

Jon

Following an early morning meeting with spray of the sea. Jon Snow found himself in company with his father-in-law as they awaited the descending rowboat. "Ser Davos asked you to join us, did he?"

No glance was made to him as he focused out to the never ending body of water. "What familiarity do you or the northerners have with a queen of foreigners on Westeros? I traveled to Yunkai when I was just a boy. Learned their language of Ghiscari and High Valyrian. Wasn't easy without the help of the merchant wives my father sold to."

Jon ponders, then nods. "Aye, that is true. Come then, let us meet Queen Daenerys. I don't wish to linger away from the North any longer than I must."

The wind steadily flowing from the south, but under oars it made no matter. Blackwater Bay was rough and choppy, whitecaps everywhere. Riding the tide as it snapped back at the oars in revenge.

Ashore on the beach of Dragonstone, the men pulled the rowboat inland as they were to meet Tyrion and a foreign girl with the surrounding Dothraki. "The bastard of Winterfell."

"The dwarf of Casterly Rock." Smiling to each other of their jape they approached each other with a shake. He had no doubt Tyrion will keep true.

"I believe we last saw each other atop the Wall."

"You were pissing off the edge if I remember right. Picked up some scars along the road."

"It's been a long road, but we're both still here." Jon nodded in agreement. "I'm Tyrion Lannister." Tyrion greeted his advisor as well.

"Davos Seaworth."

"Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

"Unluckily for me."

Introducing a girl of around ten, who called herself Missandei. Her face round and flat, with dusky skin, and eyes like molten gold. Her voice strong and sweet. "Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows it is a long journey. She appreciates the efforts you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind turning over your weapons?"

"I'd prefer to keep my blade," Lord Almont says. Tyrion perks up. "An Dornish accent? Lord Firestone I believe. You'll be most welcome among your countrymen, friend, if you comply."

Jon Snow eyes him reassuringly as he's forced to disarm. The silent Dothraki also carry their rowboat away. In the distance, a dragon's cry is the doors that are set in the dragon's mouth. The men found themselves in the belly of the beast lied down in the Great Hall. Small dragons frame gates and dragon claws hold torches. _Surrounded._

* * *

Seated on the throne the Targaryen girl's violet eyes focused on him. The queen had the classical Valyrian look; Eyes of violet, pale skin, and long, pale silver-gold hair.

The dais had been comprised of her most trusted allies. Dothraki warriors stood near their leader and an uncharacteristic man watched aside.

"You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen to the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains." Missandei stated.

Awaiting Davos to introduce him he turned. His reaction still stunned of such uncommon beauty. "This is Jon Snow. He's King in the North."

Ignoring his title, "thank you for traveling so far, my lord. I hope the seas weren't too rough."

"The winds were kind, Your Grace." Jon answered respectfully. In truth, he carefully chose his words instead to squander like a child over a claim.

"Apologies, I have a Flea Bottom accent, I know, but Jon Snow is King in the North, Your Grace." Ser Davos interrupted. "He's not a lord."

"Forgive me-"

"-Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth." Lord Tyrion introduced.

"Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education, but I could've sworn I read the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon Targaryen. In exchange for his life and the lives of the northmen, Torrhen Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. Or do I have my facts wrong?"

"I wasn't there, Your Grace." The Onion knight answered.

Smiling, "no, of course not. But still an oath is an oath. And perpetuity means-what does perpetuity means, Lord Tyrion?"

"Forever." He answered.

"So I assume, my lord... you're here to bend the knee."

"I am not." Jon answered.

"Oh. Well that is unfortunate. You've traveled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?" Her features didn't carry anything unpleasant. Rather it was a pleasing smile she bestowed.

"Break faith? Your father burned my grandfather alive. My uncle was forced to watch as his father was burned in his own armor and strangled himself while attempting to get to the sword so he could save his father. Your father would've burned the seven kingdoms-"

"-My father... was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen... I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father." Surprise of her apology he looked to Tyrion. _She is a just ruler._ "Our two houses were allies for centuries, and those were the best centuries the seven kingdoms have ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with a Targaryen sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen Jon Snow. Honor the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name you Warden of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it."

His refusal still prominent, he gazed around the Hall. "You're right. You're not guilty of your father's crimes. And I'm not beholden to my ancestor's vows."

The smile she had plastered disappeared at his words. "Then why are you here?"

"Because I need your help, and you need mine."

"Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?"

"I did."

"And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?"

"They're hard to miss."

"But still, I need your help?"

"Not to defeat Cersei. You could storm Kings Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it and we didn't even have dragons." Ser Davos stated.

Lord Tyrion eyed him cautiously. His scars told the tale all of the destruction faced against the Lannister's. "Almost."

Ignoring his comment. Jon spoke aloud. "But you haven't stormed King's Landing. Why not? The only reason I can see is that you don't want to kill thousands of innocent people. It's the fastest way to win the war, but you won't do it, which means, at the very least, you're better than Cersei."

"Still, that doesn't explain why I need your help."

"Because right now, you and I and Cersei and everyone else, we're children playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair."

Her frustration palpable, "you told me you liked this man."

Mismatched eyes of green and black stared back at him. "I do."

"In the time since he's met me, he's refused to call me queen, he's refused to bow, and now he's calling me a child." _A child that lashes out without the calling of her title._

"I believe he's calling all of us children. Figure of speech." The Imp advised.

"Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter's over if we don't defeat the enemy to the North."

"As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the North."

"I am not your enemy. The dead are the enemy."

"The dead? Is that another figure of speech?"

"The army of the dead is on the march."

Skepticism plain on Lord Tyrion's voice. "The army of the dead?" _He didn't blame them. How could anyone believe tales of dead men?_

"You don't know me well, my lord, but do you think I'm a liar or a madman?"

His mouth agape he answered quickly. "No, I don't you're either of those things."

"The army of the dead is real. The White Walkers are real. I've seen them. If they get passed the Wall and we're squabbling amongst ourselves..." Stepping closer to the dais the dark Dothraki inched closer in ready. "We're finished."

"I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert's assassins could find us. Robert was your father's best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now, of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men had tried to kill me, I don't remember all their names. I have been sold like a broodmare. I've been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled. Do you know what kept me standing through all those year in exile? Faith. Not in any gods, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will."

"You'll be ruling over a graveyard."

There will be no compromise if she were to stubbornly not heed his warnings. The Night's Watch sent out many ravens to all the Houses in the Seven Kingdoms and none would reply. None would believe what the Old Bear wrote and the accounts of many brother's who had. His last hope to send Ser Alliser Thorne with the hand of a dead man to King's Landing. The very one that had almost killed him if it hadn't been for Jon.

"The war against my sister has already begun. You can't expect us to halt hostilities and join you in fighting whatever you saw beyond the Wall." Tyrion stepped forward.

The quiet Lord Almont that stood to the back of the Great Hall now came forward. "Ah, I seem to remember a time in King's Landing where you laughed at a man of the Night's Watch for claiming the dead rise. Do not play the fool Lord Tyrion. It doesn't suit you."

Tyrion smiled a sly toothy grin. His hand against his chest, "you wound me, my Lord Firestone. I am a suspicious half man. I need more than rotting bones and words of wind. I seem to remember you bended the knee to my nephew. Do show Jon Snow how easy it can be done."

The Lord of Ravenwood's face brightened red with anger. His rebuttal quickly interjected by Ser Davos. "You don't believe him. I understand that. It sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North. You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros? He is the first to make allies of wildlings and Northmen. He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He was named King in the North. Not because of his birthright. He has no birthright. He's a damn bastard. All those hard sons of bitches chose him as their leader because they believe in him. All those things you don't believe in, he faced those things. He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people. He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own-"

One look to him to be careful. A memory that hurt too much. A fate held by his direwolf in such sudden doom. The Hall now quiet as the queen and her advisor shared looks of confusion. His father-in-law's eyes never left them in his own uncertainty.

"If we don't put aside our enmities and band together, we will die. And then it doesn't matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne."

"If it doesn't matter, then you might as well kneel. Swear your allegiance to Queen Daenerys, help her to defeat my sister, and together, our armies will protect the North." Lord Tyrion said.

"There's no time for that. There's no time for any of this! While we stand here, debating-" Jon argued.

"It takes no time to bend the knee. Pledge your sword to her cause."

"And why would I do that? I mean no offense, Your Grace, but I don't know you. As far as I can tell, your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father's name, and my own father fought to overthrow the Mad King. The lords of the North placed their trust in me to lead them, and I will continue to do so as well as I can."

Queen Daenerys' small smile graced her features. "That's fair. It's also fair to point out that I'm the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By declaring yourself king of the northernmost kingdom, you are in open rebellion."

Small patters on the floor sounded behind in quickness. A plump, bald, and effeminate man approached Daenerys. Whispering to her ear.

"You must forgive my manners. You'll all be tired after your long journey. We'll have baths drawn for you and supper sent your rooms." Her gaze to the almond eye warrior. She spoke in Dothraki whilst walking away.

"Am I your prisoner?" Jon asked.

"Not yet."


	12. Chapter 12

Narella

"Issa." The whispers of the Firestone children called to their younger sibling. "Issa." Her sister had been running after her and her siblings through the vast forest. Father encouraged his daughters to play with the boys, as it strengthened their will and physicality.

"Issa! Over here!" Narella yelled, laughingly. Giggling, her sister ran away from them further into the dark valley. Moments passed in stillness while the game came to a halt. Robert nor Eren could find the young Firestone.

"Issa! Issa! Where are you!? We're going home!" Nothing. Nothing, but the breeze and flutter of the fallen leaves. Yelling once more to the silent woods the children searched.

Pushing Eren in jest, Rob ran away from his swatting brother. She laughed at them as they disappeared behind the trees into the mountain valley. Narella had been always scared of the looming darkness in the creak of the mountain side. The ragged chants of the dead war as the stone men moved in the flames.

As she were to approach, Robert exited quickly with the look of terror. His face slashed with a thin line as he held their younger sister. Her sweat running down her cheeks to simmer with the heat. Examining her closer, she seen the twig in her foot. It had turned green and red with her pulsing veins visible. Issa had soaked their brother while he ran home. Immediately, Eren and her followed after in confusion.

"What happened!?" Their lord father yelled when he seen his children running toward him in the courtyard. They explained their play as simply running in the woods bare. He never waited on Robert's stupor to vanish. "You do not have the blood. How many times had I told your mother!?"

Perplexed at what she had heard, her father hurried Issa inside for the last time. The infection spread throughout her leg; contaminating her blood. The queen could still remember her swollen eyes; the tears she couldn't shed from so much sobbing.

"Why do we burn our dead father?" Narella remembered asking. Lady Firestone's cries persisted beyond what father could handle. His demeanor shaking of disgust whilst he stood away from his sobbing wife. _Had they ever loved?_

His grief too unbearable to answer, he left the smoky scene in sadness. _Always the man to shy away from his pain._ Without her answer she stood in silence as the sparks of ember flickered to the sky. _Why you? Curious, Issa. Sister of rage._

Memories faded to another like a dream. Though this dream was not the one she wished to think of again. _Not this. Please._

The very place she stood of her sister's pyre had been replaced with the fearful crossing of the Bolton sigil in display. The flayed man was no man. But a boy of eight, stretched across the 'x' in the light of the very place that flamed Issa.

The big boned and slope shouldered monster carved Eren's brown skin, slow and smiling. The shouts of her mother's forgiveness behind her made her cry once more of the scene before her. "Mercy, my lord. Mercy!"

Narella recalled it all. The scene unfolded to the touch of the bastard Bolton dragging her younger self to her very bloody brother to the earth. Her present self couldn't bare the scene. So, she hid behind her palms like the child she felt. Even so, the action had left little cover as she was forced to relive it.

"Stripping him is the easy part, you see. I flayed all his secrets!" The hearing of his voice in her ear startled the young girl to no end. Her shaking never stopped. Directing his gaze to her mother, "your lord husband with no allies but his dirt boy openly opposing his liege. Perhaps, he'd have more sense next time I come to fuck your daughter bloody after the Stark girl and you along with the hounds." She heard him say.

Narella remembered hearing the exhale near her ear. Remember the upright stance of the shrug of his shoulders as if exhausted. "Ah, I love a rebellion." Milky eyes staring to her once more before ending the 'war.'

Ripping the skin apart from the knife that he pulled, tore away from the body. A sudden, piercing, bloodcurdling scream came from the young Firestone. The flaying knife, all with hilts of yellow bone were cutting the tendons sharply and fast."Maaaa! Papaaaaa! Aaaaaah-"

Louder than before, Maru screamed to the stars in rage. The blows of the Bolton soldier's fist shut her shouts once more. Turning her dark brown skin in purple marks along her eyes. This time she woke no more. The scrawny rat faced one that given the first blow, met his blisters of the kiss of Lady Firestone's lips salaciously. The other the bastard called Reek released his hold on her. Giving way for the man to drag her mother to the stables.

No burst of her brothers screeching agony came when he tore his lips. His brows. Perfectly sculpting the skin off the nose. She couldn't think of, how many times she turned her sight away. Or if she had at all. He always forced her to not take her eyes off of his craft with fat red hands bringing her to watch. " _Come and see_ ," he said gleefully. All the sounds of the world stood silent to the gruesome scene.

Without the living shrilling of the barbarity, Ramsay took to his longsword in chaotic hackings to the limbs. The thud of the head of Eren rolled to her, skinless with warning. Cruel laughter directed to her in amusement of her shrieking.

The last of his words to the Lord of Ravenwood, whom stood broken in the back in silent grief. "Do not let me come back here to this shit land you call home, and kill the rest of your kin. Consider this your mercy. Your last daughter." He smiled, sinisterly.

His retreating figure headed out to the weirwood gates with his men in tow. With them the disappearing memory of the lasting gaze of the outcome. _A shattered family._

Blinded by the oncoming storms of winter in such a drastic change of scene, she covered her self once more. Her frozen feet burned walking along the dangerous ice of the narrow walkway. Wandering carefully in the nightmare she couldn't escape.

Off into the distance, dark ice inflamed beyond the Wall, covered in winter's lips. The changing flames of falsities in darkness the blood dripped. To the pale weirwood's face in the distance. Before her eyes could see more, she was driven over the Wall in rushing speeds.

Sweat peered down her forehead upon waking in furs. The feel of her belly prominent with the sudden meeting of _their_ wolve's foot pressed to her in greeting of her awareness. "A nightmare," she breathed out in the dark. _A terrible nightmare._


	13. Chapter 13

Jon

Near the cliff of Dragonstone, stood the water dancer enrapt of the Valyrian tongue, joined by Missandei. The three dragons screeched to the distance over the bay, playing about. A sight he hadn't been quite used to seeing. His presence well aware of his father-in-law's keen eyes, Lord Almont spoke once more which led the giggle of the Naathi girl.

"I assure you that this strange land is full of wonders, and wonderful people." This time in the common tongue he spoke. "Your Grace."

He watched Jon approach, but did not speak more. "The queen is allowing you to leave Dragonstone, to bring of our findings to Sansa."

"How'd ya convince the Dragon Queen to allow me to return to Winterfell?" He asked.

"I convinced her," Missandei says smiling. "The queen is kind, and values her advisors' council, as she values her rightful subjects in the North."

"The King in the North? What of he and Ser Davos? Are they allowed to leave as well?"

"We are to remain, for the time being." Jon says, pained. _I miss her_ , Jon thought _. Do not remind me old man._ "Her men will take you to shore, then you must prepare our people to mine this dragonglass."

In High Valyrian Almont's thick Dornish accent rasped to the small girl. Speaking to each other in the foreign tongue. Jon stood awkwardly aside while she politely walked to the dark castle. "Valar morghullis, Lord Almont of Ravenwood."

"Valar Dohaeris, Missandei of Naath." Shaking his head in refusal, his father-in-law want no part in it. "How do I convince your sister whom still chooses not to trust me?"

"Lady Sansa is smart," the king cautions. "And she's been through a great deal. Enough to be wary of strangers of untold allegiances. Do not fault her."

Shaking his head in agreement, Lord Firestone gazed to his half arm in what he thought to seen a grin. "I will not return with more men if you are not allowed to return North soon."

"I'll be fine here," Jon promises. "Journey swiftly, and tell my wife and sister that I'm all right. If I am truly to not see the birth of our first child tell her to name him Robb."

Almont smiled, "how do you know she'll birth you a son?"

 _I dreamt of him._ He almost said. Jon didn't know if it was real, though the dream had been to him. The detail of features similar to his although his eyes were different. A color he couldn't understand. So dark they brimmed a plum shade. When he tried to look closer to him in the Godswood, the boy ran from his view in play with his mother. The flurry so heavy his wife gently tossed a ball of snow to his small chest. Causing his son to laugh joyfully.

A blur of white flew from tree to tree, gaining on the small family briskly. The roaring outcry he heard had morphed into the howl of the direwolf he knew much of. _Ghost,_ he thought. Suddenly, he was back amongst the chestnut and ash in the wolfswood, his paws deep in a drift of snow as he hunched over his prey. There was a hunger inside him. A hunger he felt so many a time over the Wall and at castle black in his direwolf's skin.

The feeding satisfied his belly, with fresh meat and hot dark blood, running down Ghost's fur. Sudden aromas of honeysickle and lavender filled his senses of the short embrace of summer he briefly had. Following the smell, he broke into a run in chase. His legs taking him to the Hunter's Gate. Patiently waiting to lead in by the night guards. Their horror clearly defined and heard he continued forward in search.

Passing the kennels and kitchen he entered the Godswood. A figure kneeled before the weirwood in prayer. Though in a flash cold steel glinted before him, revealing the prayee.

Ignoring the weapon she held in her hands, Jon nuzzled her belly in greeting. Feeling their wolfling moving against him in the womb. "Yes, Ghost. Jon's babe." _Mine._ Narella caressed his head like she'd always had. The smile he was always gifted every waking, graced her features. _My sweet summer wife._ "Sorry beautiful. I mustn't stay long. I grow colder by the moment." _A little while longer._ Answering in turn with a sad smile, she headed inside.

"I just do." He smiled to Lord Firestone.

Setting out on the arduous solo journey back to Winterfell, Almont mounted on a golden stallion. His wisp of ash hair winded lashingly to the south. Reminding him of the very ink of thick hair spread on the sheets of linen in the feathered bed he'd slept in Winterfell. _My northman,_ he remembered her words. The caress of her hand to his cheek that lulled him to sleep every night.

Erasing the memories quickly as they came, he nodded his farewell. Lord Firestone's red cloak billowing against the wind, he rode off to port. Haunched over in a rush as the dragon soared above him. Green scales shined upon the ray of the sun in flight heading Jon's direction.

The ground shaked around him as the great beast landed on ground. Rhaegal gave a low, vibrating rumble that seemed to say, _hello_. Black sharp teeth shined bright in the light, like onyx.

Removing his glove Jon reached to him. The strange pull he had to the dragon, queer to him. _I've gone mad_ , he thought. Rhaegal's scute, rough to the touch; scales that reminded him of moss in the deep woods at dusk, just before the light fades.

Bronze eyes that glowed in their own heat focused to his as the dragon rescinded. His palms grazed his hard scales as he walked around the great beast. His wings descended seeming to guide him atop himself. Hesitant, Jon ascended Rhaegal's back. Flapping wings pushed his hair in force away from his face. Causing him to hold on tight to the green dragon.

The brisk breeze put his mind at ease. One with the rapid speed of the wind. The cold made him alert and feel at home, despite the warm temperature of the south and dragon. And the feeling of his thighs brought him back to reality, every time.

Scales made his inner thighs burn and ache with every flap from his wing. Though the feeling he felt hadn't been of hurt. _The same I have with Ghost._ A connection he felt instantly. The beat of his heart loud in the king's ears. His arms stirring up and down mid air. Great distance he'd seen for the briefest of moments before he'd been back to the pain between him and the dragon. Little did he know he'd warged into Rhaegal for the slither of a time.


	14. Chapter 14

Narella

The yard was quiet and empty in the cool night. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. Otherwise the castle seemed deserted. It reminded her of Ravenwood without her siblings. The stars the only witness to tell the tale of the dim fires between the mountains.

Narella found herself seated in the yard looking to the stars. A pass time between her father and her. _It's the Dornish blood in you. The sea will call you next,_ her father said in his study. His great map draped over the large table in inspection of the Firestone's newly acquired land. The gifted mountains at the end of the Long Lake, overlooked constantly of their new home.

 _Whoooooohhhhhh!_ Winter called; demanded to be known. Narella answered with annoyance, rapping her cloak to her. Her anger flared tonight to bother the cold of such complaints. _The chill may be my friend tonight._ The subject of such anger had been in the king's solar reading the incoming ravens.

Princess Sansa Stark worried her a great deal. Whispers of the mockingbird were gladly heard by her sister-in-law in the quiet shadows of the walls of Winterfell. The granite stained of his deceit. The queen tried to pry her away from his slick clutches though Sansa openly greeted him. She hadn't understood someone who'd hurt before, keep company with shades of lies.

Raised words of her disapproval fell at the feet of Sansa. The blue eyes of Tully deep and beautiful, never gave away her true thoughts. _She stands strong._ _A true Stark._ _Jon…_

"If you may Lord Baelish. I'd like to speak with my dear sister alone." Her first attempt of separation. Gray-green eyes laughed at her in such trivial trial.

"Lord Baelish will stay. I would gladly hear you in his presence."

In the solar, Sansa sat behind the desk. Reading ravens of the reports of war. No doubt she had read of a six-and-one year old who called himself Aegon Targaryen, draped himself with the dragon sigil upon his banners. _A folly._ _It's unlikely the Company that contracted itself in blood to it's succession of a Blackfyre reign, would support 'Aegon Targaryen.' That is why he needs Daenerys Targaryen._

"Then I have said all I have came for." _I will not speak this with open ears about. My Jon deserves his brother's last wishes._

Before her sister's rebuttal, the chamber door opened to a familiar face. "Queen Narella, Princess Stark you're presence is called upon in the Great Hall." Lucan said, eyes directed to hers. His mouth jutted open and then shut. Two moons he'd been gone of her sight.

His hair to his shoulders curled at the tips. A scruffy beard adorn his cheeks with the same green eyes she known. _Hello,_ she wanted to say, but refrained from her urge of companionship. His dismissal from her guard had been swift and easy. Lucan talked little, speaking words of a much needed solitude. _I may need to forget you after all,_ she remembered him saying before leaving the library.

"Who summons us?" Sansa asked, rising from her seat. She chose a simple dress of dark grey wool today, plainly cut but richly embroidered around the collar and sleeves; wearing her House colors proudly.

Nervously, he eyed Narella. "Lord Almont Firestone. He's summoned your banners on King Jon's orders." Handing her the rolled note with the sigil of Stark, Sansa reopened the seal.

"Very well. Escort the queen to the Great Hall." Smiling pleasantly, she fled away as much as her body can take. Relief to see her father once more. Until realization hit her. _Why am I being escorted?_

Though before she were to depart further down the dark hall she seen Littlefinger ushering her over. Although, she kept to herself down the line of men. "I have no interest in playing along with your schemes Littlefinger."

"A pity," Littlefinger rasps. "But your presence is required, along with Sansa's other warriors. I daresay, things may become a bit violent in there."

Eyes wide, "pardon?"

"I rather not spoil it, my queen," Baelish teases. "Though if you were keen as I, you'd have seen what's been transpiring within these walls."

 _My Jon._ Many of the northern lords argued in the Hall after her kings departure. Disgusted of his decision to allign himself with the Targaryen queen. "Dragons prove nothing about Jon's predicament."

"Perhaps there's no cause for alarm, as you say, Your Grace. But if the North is about to lose its king, we must be sure they'll follow Sansa."

Narella grew cold with apprehension. "There will be no lost king Littlefinger. Mind your tongue, turncloak." _How dare he!_

"Call my effort what you will," Baelish intones. "But I have declared myself for the North. I only seek to serve its interest, and its security."

The Great Hall lit from the hearths with the illuminating lit torches about. Many of knights, lords, squires, merchants, and many more powerful men and women entered the Hall. Awaiting the words of the White Wolf. Her father amongst the many forms of entering bodies, sighted her ahead of the crowded. Smiling brightly, he walked to her in two strides. Enveloping her in his furs.

"My girl. I've missed you dearly."

Smiling, "I missed you as well. How was the sea? Did you see the dragons!? Tell me of the dragon queen! Is my husband well?" She wanted to know so much. The ravens brought stories of lost children. Stories of a mad queen destroying the Sept of Baelor, resulting of her succession to the throne. And stories of dragons along the Blackwater Bay, spewing the fires of their bellies.

"A strong regret I hadn't stayed on that deck. The sea called to me like she always had, though I ignored her callings to duty." He greeted her belly this time. "I seen the dragons over the sea. Our first sight of them to the entrance of the Blackwater Bay, they were massively flying around the heavens. A green one, a black one, and a white dragon. All hail to a mother of silver hair. She is very comely although her looks could not amount to her intellig-"

His dark brown eyes directed to the entrance of the Hall, she seen the direction of such disdain. _Littlefinger._ Alongside him, the princess walked along the parting lords. "Do you know of him? He speaks to the ear of the princess privately. Filling her of lies and treachery. I know it. She looks to me with distrust every passing day."

"I do not. Just the obvious. Sending Sansa Stark to the Bolton's was a mistake. Do you not see what he does daughter. Likens himself to the northerners to correctly align himself with right people. With whom he was aligned to before this? Remember girl."

The couple passed father and daughter whilst she eyed the subject of their conversation. Lord Petyr stood ahead of her guards, "my spies saw three dragons flying south," Littlefinger reports. "The lords should know things are going poorly for the Night King."

They called him Bastard King and now she learned they called him Night King. She wondered what they called her as some of the men murmured in agreement. Whilst the other's quietly listened to the meeting. Many of whom she had known nothing of. Only able to recount the lords of their house, their heraldry, their words, and history.

The Queen of Winterfell's feet swelled from the growing weight of her belly, causing her to seek comfort for a seat. However, she was prevented to leave her father's side by the guards Sansa commanded. Lord Firestone had been displeased of such circumstances. "King Jon request men to mine the caves of Dragonstone, my lords. To and from we shall export the dragonglass in our preparation against the Other's. Now I ask, what is the meaning of this? My house has served House Stark faithfully for years." Her father pointedly looked to the princess of Winterfell.

"And which house would that be?" Sansa asks. Almont hesitates, and the princess took notice. _I see what she does. Who would know their small house amongst the other small houses._ "this is to defend the North from those who would betray us. Who are you?" Sansa eyes locked to her father's firmly. _"_ You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges..."

"Sansa my father and I have done nothing treasonous to House Stark. What is the meaning of this?" She could hold her tongue no longer of the anger she harbored. Her child's demanding kicks to her belly shown she was not the only one.

"Lord Baelish."

* * *

What do you guys think so far?


	15. Chapter 15

Jon

"I need to go home." Jon spoke aloud to the dragon queen. In the Chamber of the Painted Table, he stood beside the large table speaking to the silver woman. "The dragonglass is being transported now and will continue, as we spoke of."

He dreaded more talk. The short parchment he held of her writing was all that he could think of. _Our child had been born of the winter storm that loomed over the holdings since you been gone. Healthy and strong like his father. His dark eyes a reminder of the man I wed. Do see your child, my northern husband._

Her purple eyes softened at his words. He didn't forget Daenerys Targaryen seeking his council against the Lannister forces. He never missed the way she gazed to him every once in a while. Jon felt unsettled, _does she know of Rhaegal._ "I haven't given you permission to leave."

"With respect, Your Grace, I don't need your permission. I am a king. And I came here knowing that you could have your men behead me or your dragons burn me alive. I put my trust in you, a stranger, because I knew it was the best chance for my people, for our people. Now I'm asking you to trust in a stranger..."

Looking to her advisor, Tyrion nodded in approval. His tunic a dark red, embroidered with the likeness of the three headed black dragon of House Targaryen. Jon was glad of another familiar face in the Chamber.

She nodded her head in assurance to the northern king in solemn consent. Gracing her with a short, bow. "Your Grace".

Beside him, Davos Seaworth stood to his right, watching him. The Knight walked to the fireplace, warming his stumped fingers. "Your Grace, if I may go to Flee Bottom and retrieve a proper smith for your army. I believe he may be of use to make weapons of Valyrian Steel. His teacher is a master armorer who learned to work Valyrian Steel in Qohor. Tobho Mott his name is, Your Grace."

Jon hadn't thought of a smith whom could work Valyrian Steel and felt more the fool to not have. "I do not doubt you, Ser Davos. May your trip be swift."

The Onion Knight bowed his head, "Your Grace." His simple brown and green wool mantle billowed behind him in retreat. The sounds of his footfalls clacked from his old boots.

"If I don't return, at least you won't have to deal with the King in the North anymore."

Her smile pleasant, she rose from her seat. Daenerys' black scaled dress pooled to her feet. "I've grown used to him." The gesture of her sigh and sweet smiles had not been expected. No love would he show in return for her affections. _Nelly's perfect smile that caught my eyes in longing, haunts me every night._

"I wish you good fortunes in the wars to come, Your Grace." Her short nod, gave his in return as he turned away in leave.

* * *

Rhaegal had been ridden once by Jon; the marks on his thighs a reminder of that night. The dragon sensed his presence gone though the great beast stood with his dragon mother. _Bond or no, I am no dragon._

Reaching Winterfell would take three moons time, and Jon's nerves would not ease. The urge to see the babe they cradled in her belly at night, of whispers of their love, fiercely overcame him. The kisses he had bestowed on the swell before he'd gone the night before, remembered. _When I return I'll show you both the love I could not show your mother in our first times,_ Jon swore to himself.

Calling the bronze dragon lingered on his tongue. The words need only an opening, though Jon could not give way to the call. The men would question his loyalty. Question his parentage. Answers that'd confuse the lot of them. Including himself.

Patiently, he traveled through the sea to the cold roads of White Harbor. Reaching the port had taken over two moons and the lost of two men. The sea swallowed them whole before their screams could be carried back to their cabins. _An Ironborn death._ No one was alerted during their sleep. And no one had noticed the two gone till a straw-haired boy pointed to the two cots empty beside his own.

White Harbor is located on the eastern shore of the White Knife. Its clean cobbled streets well-ordered, wide and straight, that makes it easy to walk around. The houses are built of whitewashed stone, with steeply-pitched roofs of dark grey slate. The city's scent was sharp and salty, and a little fishy too.

The White Harbor lordling would emerge later in the morning, with his men-at-arms. Jon spotted his litter being held by men of the black trident; Manderly men struggling to hold their lord atop. A heavy man of nearly sixty-years-old, with a massive belly and sausage hands, commanded to be lowered. His aquamarine surcoat bound tightly around him with every breath he'd taken.

Widely his arms stretched in greet, "King Jon! White Harbor openly greets you with open arms. Come! Camp your host under the city walls. A hot bath has been drawn in the morning room of the Guest House for you, my king. I've prepared a feast of salmon, winkles, and whitefish in my Hall. We have much to discuss, Your Grace."

"And what do these discussions entail, my lord?"

Despite his involvement in Robert's Rebellion, Wyman is affable. "I'd rather congratulate you on your firstborn son with black beer, Your Grace. In my walls without the eyes and ears of the fisherfolk. My reports of you say your station as Lord Commander of the Nights Watch had been admirable and just. Wise and strong. I'd like to propose to build our new king a new warfleet of galleys. The very proposal I had offered your half-brother, the Young Wolf."

 _The very proposal that should be his own._ "I never asked for any of it. But I can't say I'm ungrateful that these roles gave me purpose. Just didn't think I'd end up here."

Jon looks at Lord Manderly kindly. "Well lad, I'm glad to do my part to make a better future for your child."

* * *

I honestly cannot wait for Narella and Jon to meet. I enjoy writing this story and I hope you guys do too. What do you think so far?


	16. Chapter 16

Narella

A faint hint of the last light of day was visible in the south, and the Bell Tower stood solemn awaiting the King of Winterfell. His sightings were reported by traveling smallfolks along the kings road. "Last the ravens report of our king had been at Stepstones, Your Grace. Far from travel." The maester informed her.

Narella asked many a time of Maester Wolkan, fervently hearing different reportings. She could not tell if they spoke truth or if they lie. _Or they do not know. Hopeful to gain a stag or a golden dragon._

Robb's wail for his feeding woke her from her thoughts. Setting the book of _Ten Thousand Ships_ aside, Narella gracefully walked over to her son. Smiling at the bundle she'd been blessed to have. _My winter child._ His pale skin contrasted against her own as he sucked her brown teat. Robb's pudgy hand grasped her chest greedily, as he consumed his milk. Her slender fingers ran through his curly hair while she sang her home songs to him.

The tugging of her sons insistent feeding had lessened from his fill. His dark eyes gazed up to Narella sleepily with the bud of her breast in his mouth. "You look so much of your father, my wolf."

Begrudgingly, she placed her son back in his crib. Once more focusing on his small chest that grew up and down, his mouth that jutted open, and the small fist he tightened above him.

She hadn't the faintest idea of how long she stood there, watching him sleep. Slowly, she fixed her nightgown as she readied for bed. As she moved the book aside and furthered herself into the furs, she listened to the wind. She did so every night. Like a raspy whisper of a goodnight.

Winter nights were foreign to her. Never had she had to deal with the fight of chill. Though her Robb had been different. He loved the cold; always kicking his furs aside or crying as Narella overdressed him for outside. _We made a northern child,_ she thought proudly. The musing settled her to sleep.

The Queen of Winter dreamt an old dream, of the bloodied horse that passed through her childhood gated home, and the stables the war horse awaited, and Rob atop that yellow horse with bloody wounds of stabbings.

Realization woke her from the direction her dream took. _No more. I see no more._

Huffing above herself to the air, she turned her head to her child's crib. The white of his crib had been obscured by a dark figure that stood above her son. Looking over him with one hand she could not see touching.

Rapidly her heart beat quickened at the sight of the intruder. She dared not squeak in alert. Instead, she quietly reached for her dagger that glimmered red in the moonlight. Gripping the handle as tightly as she remembered Lucan teaching her, she crawled over the bed to the assassin.

Closer behind the figure, she noticed the hand on her babe's belly. Rage enveloped her of the closeness. A foot away she curved her arm under the man's scruff neck and brought the knife close to his skin. "Hand off my son."

Narella had no understanding of her calm voice but she had no correction for it. "I could not do that."

The hearing of the voice, shunned her of the knife she held. _Jon?_ " _Jon?_ " Her voice came out breathily.

"Aye, I'm home." Turning to her with streaming tears, he brought her closer. Dropping the dagger, she embraced him hard in return. "I don't have the heart to hold him. I fear I'd wake him."

Smiling, "he's a curious one, husband. He has much of you in him. Wait in the morn, and he shall be as rowdy as the wolf we felt in my belly."

Laughter rang in the air causing their son to fidget of the noise. Knowingly, Narella tugged him away. "How'd you come by without raising alarm?" She asked curiously.

"I commanded them not to." He said no more whilst he removed his boots. He continued undressing further, enrapt of her sight.

Once again, Narella could not help but notice her husband's stares. He looked away when she caught him and repeated the game. Flushed in heat, she awkwardly stood aware of his demeanor. _He wants me._

Closer he came to her, but then her courage left her, and she ran back to their bed. _You mustn't deny_ , her mother's voice echoed to her in that dark room. Before she could shyly cover herself in the covers of the bed, she unthreaded the laces of her gown. _I do this for the love I bear him. Not for his need, mother._ The room had been quiet, save for their breathing, that gave way to the nervousness they had encountered.

Turning her head to him, she noticed him nearer then before. This time he was successful in reaching her. Caressing her cheek, he leant forward and kissed her warmth there as he smelled her fragrant aroma. "I'm a fool," he spoke aloud.

"We both are."

Mustering her courage, Narella drew his lips to her with a light kiss. The sparks she felt took her breath away. As if frozen by him, she seen him retract from her slowly. Departing the untouched laces from each other, he continued down her smallclothes.

Jon kissed her again, this time harder, and his hand slowly made its way down between her legs, where he cupped her gently. Narella gasped, as she felt his hand rub her passionately, his lips trailing down to worry at the crook of her neck. She moaned and closed her eyes as his ministrations grew harder, more insistent in what they wanted and demanded. She had never even imagined it could feel this good, and her hands gripped his biceps so hard. She felt how he thrust a finger into her and moved it in and out, faster and faster, joined quickly by another one.

"Oh Gods, Jon...!" She breathed, and he covered her mouth with his again. She reached down to shakily unbutton his belt and pants, and he wasn't slow in helping her.

When his trousers had joined the rest of their quickly growing clothes pile on the floor, he carried her to the bed, and carefully parted her legs. Her breathing hitched as Jon had been a close hair away, his lips pressing kisses to her plump ones, and with one smooth, upward thrust, he was moving inside of her.

Narella whimpered in pain, when he finally joined them and quickly bit down on her bottom lip. But as he thrust again and again, the sensation of pleasure washed over her, and she cried out.

"Are you ok, Nelly? Am I hurting you?"

The hearing of her nickname gave her a euphoric feeling down her slick part. She screamed out louder of such feeling. The pleasure she felt ached around him. "Jon! Uggnnnhhuh... Go. Unnghh, keep going," she whimpered.

Reveling in the feel of their slick skin moving deliciously against each others, her legs moved up his to wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper to her, both of them letting out a moan at the feeling.

Their lips found each other again, and Narella's hands wrapped around his butt cheeks, squeezing them. They sped up; pushing the boundaries of the height they were so desperate to reach. Jon's body encased her, as he pounded relentlessly into her, causing Narella to dig her nails into the skin of his sides, his back, drawing blood as she wrapped herself around him; both of them driving each other to the brink.

Their moans grew louder as they both reached their climax. Jon felt himself spilling inside of her, as her inner muscles clenched around him, making both of them temporarily breathless at the feeling. They lay like that for a moment, Jon still a breaths away above her, gazing at the other.

After a moment, he pulled out of her, both of them shuddering at the feeling of him slowly withdrawing from her, and he collapsed on the bed beside her. He turned onto his side, where he put his arms around her, bringing her close to him. They were both sweaty and breathing heavily as they kissed again, his fingers running down her skinny belly.

They made love repeatedly that night, taking quick bouts of sleep between.


	17. Chapter 17

Jon

"What was it like beyond the wall? Tell me everything." His wife asked with enthusiasm, after a night of union.

"It is a cold, hard place. I've seen Mammoths as big as the giants on top of 'em. I remember Varamyr Sixskins, he's a skinchanger who controls three wolves, a shadowcat, a snow bear, and an eagle…" Jon responded, curling a stray of ink hair.

Eyes wide in wonderment, "really!? Six animals! That's amazing. Why wasn't he with the Free Folk? Where are the Mammoths?"

Closer he came to her, embracing her small form. Jon gently touched her face, "last I've seen of him, was back over the Wall, where he fled from the attack of, Stannis Baratheon. And the Mammoths died with the giants, or fled." Kissing her cheek, "the Wall is 700 feet high, likely more! Beyond the Wall, you'd look out and see the Haunted Forest, within a clearing with nine weirwoods, a number unheard of south of the Wall. And the cold will be unbearable for you, you'll discover yourself frozen."

Smirking, "well you'll have to wrap me bear fur thrice and take me! I'd love to see it. Nine weirwoods!? I haven't seen a live one, until I arrived here, but nine!"

Ravenwood had definitely lived up to its name. It's located northwest of the end of the Last River, with sentinels on each side the trail, there you'll find Ravenwood. Standing high upon ancient stone walls with vines climbing up it's stone, there are two huge, square towers flanking the gate.

Lord Firestone's solar is large and airy, with great beams of dark weirwood. The house banners adorn its walls, while latticework doors with panes of spiral-shaped red glass overlooked the godswood.

The castle's godswood contains a dead, ancient weirwood of colossal size. Every day hundreds of ravens come and roost all night and day on the dead weirwood, as they have for thousands of years.

"I promise to take you after the war-"

A muffled sound cried out in the night; calling for his mother. "It seems our son cannot sleep in full tonight; like father, like son." Rising from the scattered sheets of the bed they laid on, she reached for his robe, that laid beside the chair near the slitted window. "Shh... mother is here."

Breathingtakingly slow, Narella turned away from the ivory crib to him. His heart beat that only seemed to be noticed when he taken his wife under the Heart tree, frantically pounded in his chest. He rose from his position to better look on to their son of winter.

Robb's whimpering sounds in the embrace of his mother, led Narella to lower the fur robe; revealing her brown breast. Jon stared in awe of such sight before him. His child. _My Robb._ Extending his hand to rest on the curled hair of his son, feeling the softness of his ringlets. The warmth his palms sweat in heat. "Narella."

Her dark eyes gazed to his, lovingly. "My Jon." Queen Narella gave way to a small smile that formed shyly on her features.

Jon felt guilty to reprimand her of her motherly care. "He burns, my Nelly," he informed her. Freeing his son of two sets of fur that wrapped around him; cocooned. "The blood of the First Men flows in his veins," he kissed her brow whilst she fed their prince.

"I fear he'll grow sick. The cold is no friend to me, husband. I am of no northern blood and have no armor to brace the cold that other's welcome."

Her face grew sullen, "I do not care if you are of no northern blood. I do not care if you are of no noble blood..." her expression never changed. Reaching out to caress her rosy cheek, she leaned into willingly. "Remember my words when we were younger?"

"I'm a bastard, you are a lady of a small House, we are but equals in this cruel world." Robb's sucking ceased to continue, filling him in full. "I remember a time when I feigned offense, Jon the Grim." Placing their small bundle into his arms, "Jon the Unsmiling."

His handling of his son, clumsy and unknown. Jon's eyes seeked her own in help, in which she placed his arms correctly. Robb gazed at his father in what seem to be a lifetime to Jon. _He has my eyes._ Gently encasing his pudgy arm around his hands, that reached for him in greet.

"What other names my sweet wife of spring has deemed me fit now?"

Her small smirk widened her lips, "hmm, I here deem you, Jon the husband." She kissed his lips. "Jon the father." Kissing him on his neck. "Jon my hero." And ending her kisses on the forehead of Robb.

* * *

"Nelly?" His voice echoed around the thick darkness that bounded him. No one answers. Gone was the Lord's chamber and with it his wife and child. His long legs stride through the unknown, seeking his family. A fathomless walk, until he reached the iron door of the crypt of Winterfell. Opening upon his approach, slowly. His fear bristled his white hair as he bared his teeth defiantly.

Cautiously, he headed down the spiral stone steps in seek of what had brought him there. Further down the darkness of the dead, his paws padded down to the floor that smelled of sweetness. His wet nose followed the smell that grew strong, as he approached the weeping woman whom stood alone amongst the Men of Winter.

His nose pressed hard to the stone of fragrant aromas. A smell he known all his life lingered to the very stone that he known little of. _Blue roses._ Unknown to the pressure of his comfort, the stone woman toppled over. Lyanna Stark dissembled before his eyes, revealing a golden handle in the womb of her.

Waking up in panic he sat up and reached for his wife, whom had been curled asleep in his arms. His movement stirred a sleeping Narella to settle further into him, exposing the bruising kisses he left marred to her skin; noticing his handling of her, rough and desiring. A lone finger trailed the littering marks to her belly, then all over her bosoms, to her neck. He kept her up all night of their lovemaking and sweet caresses; familiarizing themselves of the other.

Jon had the urge to flip her over once more and fill her of the seed he, so, hoped quickened in her belly again. Though, he couldn't wake her this moment, too distraught of the reoccurring dream. _This was no dream._

Removing himself from her embrace, Jon robed himself and grabbed the burning mantle beside the bed. All the while, gazing to the ivory crib. Lifting and setting down each foot in turn, he headed to the crypts. _I must do this._

Near the First Keep, the ironwood door of the crypts had been bared open, unveiling the darkness and chill Ghost encountered. Slowly pacing down narrow and winding stone steps, one floor contained a long line of granite pillars, two by two, between which are entombed the dead of House Stark.

Passing the Lords and Kings of Winter, he slowed the nearer he came close to his Lord father's sister. The sister whom been crushed by the persistent sniffing of his direwolf. The sister that bore the golden harp in her belly.

* * *

Sorry for the long awaited chapter! I have been so busy with school, work, and general life. I have encountered many mishaps which in turn led me astray of continuing this book. Now that issues are semi-resolved, I will continue to work on the story as I have a month off. Welcome new followers, I hope my book is up to your liking as time goes. And please do not be afraid to review as this helps me in focus, inspiration, and overall knowing people are reading my story. Thank you!


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